DI Why?
by Objessions
Summary: Tag to the Season Premier DIY or Die. Given how our boys were getting whaled on at the beginning of that episode, and knowing that something went down with that sea wall, we know at least a few days passed before they showed back up in Los Angeles. Who can resist a chance at a little whump? Not this gal. Not even slightly. A few chapters filling in the blanks. J
1. Chapter 1

Well, this mission had gone to hell a lot faster than they'd anticipated. They'd had trouble getting in country to begin with, despite having arranged things through an offshore tourist agency that handled Cuban tourism all the time. The usual routine would have been for the customs people to wink them through with an offer to stamp their visa instead of their passport so they wouldn't get into trouble with U.S. authorities, effectively making their visit invisible, even on their manufactured identities. But, they'd been detained for hours. Seemed to amuse the guy at the airport. He and Jack had been on short tempers with each other and everyone else ever since.

And Mac was already prone to being a little short tempered after getting called back from leave to go Murdoc hunting. He was frustrated by what they'd found; or rather what they hadn't. And he'd wanted to keep looking. He'd been expecting at least a month to go looking for his father. Not the couple of weeks they'd gotten.

Matty was the one who'd insisted on the leave to begin with. Okay, that was probably unfair. The doc who'd gotten a look at him and Jack when Matty ordered them to Medical after the debacle with Tennant taking over Phoenix had suggested on a little vacation, but Matty didn't have to listen. She was the boss. As she all too often liked to remind them.

Then, the guy they'd come to question was just supposed to be a _Grupo de Administracion Empresarial S.A._ contact who had been seen with someone matching Murdoc's description. Neither he nor Jack were naïve enough to think a GAESA representative might not also be tied to the local crime syndicate. But they definitely hadn't expected to be pulled off the street in front of at least fifteen witnesses at gun point by this guy's bodyguards. Once they were off the street, they'd made a decent effort at getting themselves free, but it had been short lived.

Maybe Mac was still dragging a little from the siege at Phoenix, because one of the guys had gotten in a couple of good shots to where his ribs were still aching in the morning and it had dropped him to his knees gasping for breath. And Jack had gotten a couple of good hits in, but the bigger of the goons twisted Jack's better arm up behind his back, leaving him only his less dependable side to swing with. The injury was old, and Jack frequently insisted (after a couple of beers) that he only wrapped that wrist so women would ask him about it and he could show them the scar and tell them the heroic take of saving his Army buddy up in the mountains of the godforsaken goat farm everyone else knew as Afghanistan. But Jack could insist it wasn't a liability until he was blue in the face. Mac had been there when it happened. And it had been bad. And he'd been in enough fights around Jack to know that he just didn't have the power or stamina with that side that he did with the other. A couple swings that more irritated than injured the guards and they'd managed to get themselves maced for their trouble.

The guys had had the decency to hose their captives off a little, but left them tied up in the baking heat for an hour while the man in charge paced back and forth on a very new looking cell phone talking very heatedly to someone just out of earshot. Mac did here the man order the guards to go over to Camilo's and get van for clean-up. That sounded ominous. Mac made the mistake of thinking to himself that things couldn't possibly get any worse.

He spent the next hour or so (at least it felt like that long – time always seemed to draw out when someone was using your pain for their own gain) kicking himself for the sentiment. Whenever you said things couldn't get worse, it never failed that things always found a way. The guy liked to hit. And he was good at it; threw the sorts of compact powerful punches that Mac associated with someone who had boxed at some point. Having had more than his fair share of concussions, one of the solid jabs to the jaw had dropped Jack's head to his chest. It had been so swift, and he'd gone so boneless, if Mac hadn't been able to feel his partner breathing at his back he might have thought the GAESA guy had killed him.

Already sore, sunburned, tired, hungry, and pretty beat up, Mac wanted nothing more than to pull his hands free and lay into the guy. He'd always kind of loved Cuba. It just suited him. It was about as unpretentious as a place came, and if he could fit in anywhere on earth, it might just be in a place where people started with nothing and had been making things up as they went along for decades. But this trip was ruining that in a hurry.

Even in a flurry of blows alternated with irritating questions about his least favorite person in the world, he'd managed to recapture some of that Cuban spirit and break a button off the back pocket of his khaki's. Jack often teased him for his fashion sense, but if he'd been wearing jeans like his partner, he wouldn't have had a button, and if he didn't have a button, he couldn't have started sawing through the ropes. He could only reach the ones on Jack's wrist, and with Jack out cold he wasn't sure what good it was going to do him, but you did the best you could with what you had where you were. Or _he_ did anyway.

When Jack came around again, he tried to communicate what he was doing through touch. Jack was a little dazed, but Mac was pretty sure he got the plan … well, the sort of plan. Things were starting to look up. Until Jack started talking, that was. Mac knew Jack had a protective streak. He always had. Literally since the day they'd met. And sometimes Mac appreciated it. Other times, like now for example, it made him kind of want to throttle his partner. Who said stuff like that? Jack Wyatt Dalton, that was who.

When the straight razor flicked open less than a foot and a half away from him, Mac had the irrational urge to just try to tip the chair. He'd been through a lot before. And hey, he only woke up in a cold sweat from dreaming about that stuff once in a while, right? No one had ever used knives though. And he didn't have any urge to add to his nightmare bank. That was quite a rich enough vault as it was. Maybe he'd get lucky and their chairs would break if he could tip them over. He'd planted his foot to try when Jack started laughing. Mac was trying to shake the punch and adrenaline induced cobwebs out of his brain while Jack got their captors attention back off Mac.

For his own part, Jack was kicking himself. Maybe those guys whaling on them to get them out here had knocked some stuff loose, or it was the heat, or the beating he was taking, but when he'd regained consciousness from his brief but blessedly pain-free stint in the dark, he'd wanted almost desperately to get the bad guy's attention off Mac. Taking the punches was Jack's job, damn it. Besides the kid needed a minute to breathe to finish the job of cutting his ropes.

And maybe he'd gotten a little over zealous; maybe his mouth had gotten ahead of him a little. He shouldn't have called Mac 'kid' though. Shouldn't have let the guy know it mattered to him that his partner be left alone. He could have stuck with insults and casually calculated cultural insensitivity and probably gotten a better result. But he overplayed his hand and let the guy know that Mac _mattered_.

When the bastard had pulled out that straight razor and headed back in Mac's direction, Jack felt like he was on an elevator and someone just cut the cable. He felt Mac stiffen. Jack had a moment of damn near panic. He was wondering about tipping the chairs over, thinking maybe they'd break under their combined weight and then he started trying to do mental math the way Mac always did to figure out if it would work when he felt his ropes drop away on one side.

The laugh that came out was at first as much spontaneous relief as it was a desire to make noise that would bring the bad guy back around where he could get at him. Then when it got the guy's attention, Jack just let the bottled-up tension and pain and stress bubble out in a long stream of mirthful crazy. Didn't matter where you were of who had you, the bad guys always found that move off-putting.

While the guy was focused on Jack's best crazy face, he slowly slid his free hand over and untied the other one, realizing as he twisted his wrist that he'd be surreptitiously icing it later. If he did it openly, Mac would start fussing at him again to get it fixed. And he could, sure. Phoenix had access to the best of the best minds, medically and otherwise. He just didn't want to. He could manage it just fine. Or so he told himself, and would keep telling himself until he ran out of excuses.

But he sure as hell couldn't knock this guy on his ass like he so richly deserved. That left one other option. One he took more often than not because of that wrist, though he would never admit it. He headbutted the man just as hard as he could and the world exploded into stars and darkness in front of his eyes for a second or two. And his head started pounding. He knew Mac was just as tired and hurt as he was, but when the kid said something about using his fists, he felt anger flare for just a second. Then he slowed himself down. That was tired and stressed Mac trying to bait him into admitting he was hurt to take attention off himself. Well, too damn bad, kid. He just brushed the comment off with some flip remark of his own that made Mac make his most irritated eyeroll-ready face. Then Jack went to work on his target.

It took Mac a second to collect himself. Concealing a groan with a sigh of frustration, Mac dropped down on one knee next to Jack and looked at their would-be captor with exhausted frustration born of taking one too many punches after coming up against one too many dead ends. And he wasn't just thinking about today. Or about Murdoc for that matter.

"Hey," he began. The dark eyes of the man on the ground had the good sense to show some fear now that Mac and Jack were both free, and while Jack's weapons were inside on the table, he did have the guy's straight razor in his hand, and a thoroughly pissed off look on his bleeding face. When Mac had his attention, he gave an almost shrug. "We know Murdoc was here." The man's eyes registered the truth of Mac's words, so he pushed just a little further. "Where is he?"

His eyes darted away from Mac's face, back to Jack, who was giving Senor GAESA his best mad dog crazy smile, made all the scarier by the blood running between his teeth. The man swallowed. " _Yo no se_."

Mac shook his head, regretting it almost instantly when it sent the courtyard spinning. He unthinkingly braced himself against Jack for a second. Letting go like he'd touched a hot stove when Jack tossed a look of concern over his shoulder. Mac just made a dismissive face and refocused on their obvious source of actionable intel. " _Eso es mierda_ ," he practically spat at the man.

This time the look Jack gave him was entirely approving and he almost smiled. Apparently, they were done being pissed off at each other for no reason. _Good_. This all sucked, pretty much beyond the telling, but they weren't the authors of each other's misery. " _Mi amigo_ is right, there, cowboy. You're full of shit. Where's our wannabe super villain?"

The man hesitated again, looking back and forth between the two of them. Jack made a face and turned his head and spat. He grimaced when he saw how much blood was in it. No wonder he felt like puking his guts all over the stones here. And here he'd been worried he maybe had another concussion. When he returned his focus to the reason he just spat out about a half a pint of blood, he let his face go smooth and his voice grow cool. "Look," he lifted the straight razor and let the light catch it. "You were gonna use this on my friend here, so believe me when I tell you, I'd enjoy cutting what I want to know out of you."

Mac didn't have to look at Jack's face to know what was on it. He'd seen it before. That look of nothing there but rage, a cold calculating rage that was so much more dangerous than one that burned hot. Jack's eyes would be black and the man looking up into them would know that he was looking right at death unless he gave up what Jack was asking for. Mac knew that's what was there by the blood that drained from the face of the man on the ground.

Just to make his point, Jack deftly sliced all the buttons off the man's shirt with a flick of his wrist so quick and precise it was almost invisible. Then out of the corner of his eye, Mac caught Jack letting a lazy smile spread across his face. "But honestly, I'm in a real hurry now, so it'd be easier if you just spit it out."

The man's eyes went wide, but his mouth started working, trying to muster enough saliva to be able to form words. Jack in full interrogator mode did have an uncanny ability to induce dry mouth in people, Mac thought. After a few tried, words finally came.

"Some woman from _La Direccion de Inteligencia_ brought him to me. I helped him move around town for a few days, introduced him to some people. I made a lot of money. Then both of them told me if anyone came looking to find out why and then get rid of them."

He stammered again for a moment when Jack's eyes flashed. Mac gave the man a calculating look that was nearly as cold as his partner's of a few moments ago. "Go on," Mac prompted. "Where is he now?"

The man shook his head and Jack's grip on his tightened fractionally. "I don't know. I swear on my family."

"Where did he go from here then, smart guy?" Jack asked, spitting more blood to the side, and kind of wanting to beat on the guy a little more just to make up for the headache he was getting.

"I sent him to _mi primo_ , Miguel, _ayer_ or the day before. That's all I know."

Jack gave him a long look, another Mac knew well. It was him using an almost eerie measure of whether the target was telling the truth. Jack gave a little nod. " _Donde esta_ Miguel?"

"Four blocks from here. Garage. Bright yellow and white building."

" _Gracias_ ," Jack said with a shark-like grin, before punching the guy out like a light and then not quite biting back the curse that told Mac Jack was as hurt as he looked.

Mac got slowly to his own feet before offering Jack a hand up. "You alright, Big Guy? You took a little nap on me." He peered at Jack's face carefully, trying to discern if his pupils were even.

"I'm good," Jack lied. "How about you?" Jack returned with equal concern. "You were still draggin' a little from those Organization pukes and the whole 'run toward the explosion' thing when we got here."

Mac waved him off. "I'm fine, Jack. Let's go find Miguel and see if we can catch up to Murdoc and get back to what we were doing."

Mac's right hand went almost unconsciously to his left wrist and played absently with the new watch he was wearing. Kid was right. Matty owed him a couple of weeks. And something told Jack that they were onto something in the search for Mac's father, if not in the search for the killer who had caused them so much trouble in the last few months.


	2. Chapter 2

Mac cringed when Jack stopped and washed his face off in a bird bath in front of one of the first houses they passed. He could understand the urge to get the blood off his face, not to mention the traces of the mace still clinging in pores and burning. They were drawing a lot of looks running down the street looking like they'd broken the first rule of Fight Club, but his brain started running down the list of the contaminants that Jack was potentially splashing all over his split lip and swollen mucous membranes: aspergillosis, salmonella, West Nile, mycoplasma, avian pox. Okay, it's not like humans could contract that last one, but still. Instead of saying it out loud and earning himself one of Jack's patented 'way to let being smart ruin everything' looks, Mac just said, "C'mon Jack, let's go!" with more urgency than he actually felt.

What Mac really wanted to do was pretend this mission was over, go back to the hotel, maybe have a drink or six by the pool as an alternative to taking anything sensible for his myriad aches and bruises, and sleep off the last couple of hours before getting on a plane for home. What he did instead was lay on some speed when Jack gave him a nod and wiped his face with his t-shirt before taking off in the direction of Miguel's garage.

On a normal day, running four blocks wasn't even a warm-up for either of them, especially for Mac, who didn't run just for training, but because he enjoyed the way running could make his very busy brain go quiet for a while. After the day they had put in however, four blocks felt like a half marathon.

And since they'd found Jack's gun, not to mention Mac's swiss army knife and both their phones, absent when they'd gone inside the house after their escape, they were running on empty in more ways than one. If Miguel was half as hostile as his government connected cousin, Mac had no idea what they were going to do. He comforted himself with the thought that Cuba had a lot of spare parts lying around just about everywhere.

They were both panting and more tired than they cared to admit by the time the found the garage and Jack kicked in the locked door. The locked door should have been their first clue that the man inside was more than the neighborhood mechanic, but neither agent was thinking as clearly as they would have liked. Mac was a step or two behind Jack and he shook his head to clear it.

That last punch had rung his bell pretty good, and maybe, just maybe, he might have a slight concussion. But at least he'd had the good sense not to headbutt anybody with an already swelling brain, he grumbled to himself. Jack had all the classic signs of a concussion he wasn't going to be able to explain away, and Mac knew Jack was going to be grumpy as hell when he pointed it out. He had just enough time to register that Miguel knew their faces from his expression before the man took off.

When Miguel managed to outrun them, and make his getaway in his car, Mac cursed to himself; Jack did so out loud for the whole neighborhood to hear. On a good day, no way some middle-aged mechanic outran either one of them. But, Mac thought with a sigh, today had not been a good day, and was shaping up to get worse by the second. He almost managed to get close enough to jump into the back of the car as it sped away, but he just didn't think he had the momentum to accomplish it and he was pretty sure that a belly flop onto the pavement would finish him, at least in the short run.

He and Jack exchanged a look. He was pretty sure they both thought of it as 'time to improvise', and he had a moment where he felt himself grin in spite of the situation. This was the part he loved, that he was addicted to, if he was honest with himself. That DIY or die moment that seemed to come along more often than it didn't.

You could be better, stronger, faster, even smarter than the bad guys and they could still one up you, if you couldn't think outside the box. Or more accurately, if you couldn't think outside it, they would very likely put you in one. It happened to agents all the time. It was why he got away with so much. Matty, Oversight, hell the people above them, knew that when it came down to it, the worse the odds were for anyone else, the better they were that Mac would pull out a solution and get them what they needed.

His eyes scanned the shop. He distractedly urged Jack to try to get the ancient motorcycle with a sidecar running while he figured out a way to stop Miguel if they were lucky enough to catch up. _Perfect_. He grabbed what he thought might be adequate and ran back over to where Jack was still trying to get the engine of the bike to turn over.

Sometimes Mac wondered if they were both a little crazy, doing this job. He could see the amusement in Jack's face when he asked him if the broken-down garage was his idea of heaven and his grin was genuine when he answered. Busted up, still not sure if they were going to catch up with their mark, and in a country where tangling with the authorities would not likely end well for them, they were having fun. Yeah, probably a little crazy.

He didn't think about it much since Jack was a bit of a cowboy behind the wheel anyway. A Jack with a concussion, in an ancient bike, on the pitted, busy, unpredictable streets of Havana, had Mac too busy trying to throw together what he hoped would be a semi-adequate grappling hook while bracing himself with his feet so as not to get thrown out of the car every time they hit one of the many potholes or whizzed around a corner at a suicidal speed.

Mac thought distractedly that Jack was almost as fluent at cussing people out in Spanish as he was in his usual streets-of-LA road rage English. Maybe Spanglish was a better way to think of what Jack was speaking. Then he realized they had found their way onto the _Avienda de Maceo_ , a crowded esplanade in the heart of the capital city.

If they didn't want trouble with the authorities or high visibility, this was about the worst street their quarry could have led them onto. Better to end this quickly before they got too much closer to where the locals and tourists were known to gather for the views. They were headed right for it so it was now or never.

Mac wasn't sure they were close enough, but Jack had the bike at full throttle so this was as good as it was going to get. The compressed gas in the flare turned out to be more effective than he'd thought it would be, probably owing to how damned old and unstable they were, since they also singed his fingers. When he managed to wrap the chain around the axel he was half certain it was going to break; it was rusty, old, and he wasn't sure what it was made of, but it held. Maybe Jack's Saint Whoeverhewas from the medal he always wore was looking out for them today, Mac thought half-sarcastically and half-hopefully as he made the leap from the bike to the back of Miguel's car.

His plan had been to get into the front seat and just elbow the guy in the face and grab the wheel, but in standard Murphy's Law operating procedure, Miguel has a gun and started firing just as haphazardly as he was driving. Mac came uncomfortably close to reliving his injury from Lake Como as Miguel flailed his arm around squeezing off random shots. Mac heard several rounds ricochet off the bike and despite wrestling for control of the gun and the car, threw a glance over his shoulder to make sure Jack wasn't hit, was still with him.

Even as Miguel ran out of bullets he still continued to fight with Mac. For some reason, an elbow to his own face sent a glaring reminder of the physics of the situation through his mind and he realized that if Jack didn't brake and soon, the axel and chain would crash the bike into the car, making a bad situation worse. _At least Miguel let off the gas_ , he thought.

Then he processed what Jack was saying over the ringing in his ears from the gunfire. No brakes. Mac looked between the panic on Jack's face and the terror on the face of the man next to him. The sea wall was looming fast. "Oh, crap," he said unnecessarily. "This is gonna hurt!"

Wait. He could at least help Jack. "Jack, reverse! Reverse!" he shouted.

With no hesitation, Jack did what his partner instructed. He figured the man had probably done the math and everything, so he was just going to go with the brain that was swollen with smarts rather than his own, which was just kind of swollen at the moment. One the chain backed off when he reversed direction he could steer the bike again, and reversing had slowed him down some.

He was still going to crash if he didn't act fast. Pulling a move he hadn't tried since he broke an arm trick riding in the rodeo in high school. Jack hopped up into the seat, used the handlebars to get upright, and made a crazy sort of running leap at the sea wall. Unfortunately, problems with depth perception are a common concussion symptom and he misjudged the wall badly. His momentum carried his right over the edge.

Jack said a little nonsensical prayer of thanks when he realized that instead of dropping ten or more feet onto rocks or beach like you could at some points along the wall, he'd carried over and gone sprawling in a couple feet of water. The waves shoved him up against the stone and he was left sputtering and cursing as the salt stung his face and every scrape he had. Then he realized it wasn't just that his ears were ringing from the gunfire and the impact, he could hear approaching sirens. Son of a bitch. He scrambled over to a taller outcropping of rocks and hauled himself up over the wall.

He didn't know how Mac had managed it, but instead of crashing dead on into the sea wall, the car had only sideswiped it. Mac was crawling out of the car, covered in enough blood that if Jack wasn't pretty sure he was going to throw up or pass out, he would have run over to him instead of walked as quickly as his own wobbly legs would allow. As soon as Mac caught sight of him, he grabbed him by the arm, turned him away from the car and marched him over to the nearby beach access and walked them both onto the sand without a word. Surprising Jack, Mac didn't say anything, just peeled off the bloody shirt, dipped it in the water and wiped off the most obvious signs of the accident before folding the shirt to hide the bulk of the blood and throwing it over his shoulder to cover a gash running down part of his back, which Jack tried to get a look at but Mac just swatted him away, saying, "Later," before taking off at a strolling pace down the sand.

"Mac, what the hell are you doing?"

Mac kept walking back to the east. "Shirtless guy on the beach attracts a lot less attention around here than blood covered guy on the sidewalk next to a car wreck. Those are cops headed this way." He picked up his pace. Jack nearly jogged to keep up, then he had to stop. He threw up behind some rocks and glanced at Mac to see the kid frowning at him. "You think you can make it back to our hotel, Big Guy? We've got about a half a Klick to go."

"I can make it anywhere you can make it!" Jack said defensively, but he let Mac steady his elbow when he stumbled a minute later. The headache was starting to be truly hard to keep pushing through. "What're we gonna do about our friend Miguel?"

Mac glanced over his shoulder, confirming what his ears had already told him; the ambulance had arrived. "We'll question him in the hospital. He ought to regain consciousness in a day or so. Cracked his head pretty badly though."

Mac shrugged and then winced at the movement, resuming his efforts to look like a casual beach goer.

"How about you, kid? You crashed in the same damned car. How you doin'?"

"I'm fine, Jack. I braced myself pretty decent and we slowed down quite a bit …" He trailed off under Jack's hard stare. Then he smirked. "Let's get back to the hotel before you pass out or someone IDs us from the chase. C'mon."

Jack followed, thinking half a kilometer had never felt further. He knew that wasn't true. They'd gone farther in much worse shape in plenty of places that didn't even have pretty girls in bathing suits to distract them from their misery. But damned if it didn't feel like this one was the worst. "I'm gettin' too old for this stuff, Mac."

"Yeah, yeah. Way to Murtaugh this mission up, Jack. Every time Roger Murtaugh ever said that he just went out and did more stuff. And you know you're the exact same way. So, quit your bitchin'." He patted him on the shoulder to let Jack know he was just hassling him in fun.

They'd stopped so Mac could appropriate a t-shirt off a clothesline for the walk through the short less crowded streets near where they were staying, but other than that they just did their best to put some distance between themselves and the accident on the _Malecon_. They were nearly back to their hotel, the _Consulado 106_ , a nondescript place off the main drag, where they felt pretty safe operating out of, when Jack stumbled into the wall he was almost hugging to keep from weaving like he was drunk.

Mac stopped and steadied him. "I'm good, kid," Jack said with a slow nod meant to reassure his partner, but instead the laboriousness of the movement seemed to increase his concern. Mac heavily tipped the staff in the lobby for help up to their room, claiming in purposely fragmented Spanish that he and his friend had had a little too much to drink and might have gotten into a small, very small, no reason to involve the police, bar fight, when they accidentally drew attention to themselves stumbling in. The staff was more than accommodating, bringing them extra towels and buckets of ice.

Mac encouraged Jack to go shower first while he dragged their bags out from under the bed to refresh his memory about what their travel med kit might provide. He hoped there was a decent amount of antibiotic ointment, although he wasn't sure he wanted to explain the birdbath as the reason he really wanted Jack to slather a tube of it all over his face. Satisfied he had what he needed to patch them both up enough to finish the job and get the hell home, Mac was sitting on the edge of the bed with his elbows on his knees, resting his aching head in his hands when the phone on the table between the two queen sized beds rang, making him jump.

" _Hola_ ," he answered tentatively.

" _Hola_ my ass MacGyver! I've been trying to reach you both for hours. What's the story down there?"

"Oh … hey … Matty," he said, sitting up a little straighter as Jack came back out of the bathroom dressed only in a pair of the workout shorts he preferred to sleep in when it was hot. Mac winced when he saw how bruised and scraped up his partner was. Jack sat on the other bed facing Mac, giving him a little grin when Mac said, "Um, we maybe hit a little snag," and the proceeded to try to explain their situation and their plan to get the information Matty wanted.

Jack groaned as he stretched out on the bed, putting an arm over his eyes, while he listened to Mac try to talk Matty down about their less than successful improvisation that terminated at the sea wall downtown. Mac covered the mouthpiece and hissed out the whisper, "Don't go to sleep, Jack! Concussion!"

"Aw, Mac, c'mon," Jack said louder than he meant to. "It's not a bad concussion!"

Mac ran a hand over his face. "Nothing Matty … No, we're fine. It wasn't that bad a crash …" Jack snickered when Mac backpedaled a second later. "Oh, wow, that's great that Riley got footage of that up for you so quickly." He threw Jack a glare and rolled his eyes. "Yeah, I'm sure you're right, Matty. That's probably a good idea … We sure will … You bet. And depending on what we find when we question Miguel, I'll contact you for our exfil orders in a day or so … Yeah, no, definitely."

He hung up and flopped back on the bed, regretting the movement almost as soon as he'd made it, even though the bed was soft. Jack uncovered his eyes. "What's she want?"

Mac sat up, looked around, and the just grabbed some clean clothes so he could shower. "She says Miguel's last name is Famosa and he's been taken to _Hospital Hermanos Ameijeiras_. He's listed in critical condition from a head injury. Riley's in the system and can call us here when he regains consciousness."

"That's good, right?"

"Yeah," Mac nodded. "I'm gonna grab a shower. Don't fall asleep!" he admonished before he headed into the bathroom.

He was about to close the door when Jack said, "What did she say that you said was probably a good idea? You need to me do anything while you get cleaned up?"

Jack looked like he was going to try sitting up but he wasn't very happy about it. "No, Jack don't worry about it. She wants us to go to the Emergency Department at _Clinicia Central Circa Garcia_ because they're friendly to American tourists and whatever. Because of course she saw our wreck on the sat feed and suddenly she's decided to give a damn."

He knew he sounded grouchy, and he was, and right now he didn't give a damn either. He wanted to just get them patched up enough to crash for a while. He could set the alarm to wake Jack up every hour or so until he was sure his partner's brains weren't too scrambled, maybe his own, too based on how his head was pounding. Then, once their bad guy woke up, they'd get the intel and go home. He was close to closing the door when Jack laughed, then groaned again. "What'd you tell her?"

"I told her we'd go," Mac shrugged.

Jack sat up. "So I guess I should put real clothes on then, huh?"

Mac rolled his eyes. "Oh, we're not going."

"We're not?" Jack asked, looking Mac over and deciding that maybe Matty was on to something. He knew he felt like garbage and Mac looked worse than Jack felt. "Because, I don't know that it's the worst idea I've heard on this mission. You got something against Cuban healthcare, kid?" he smirked.

Mac glared in response. "Cuba's fine. Their healthcare is fine. What's not fine is showing up in a clinic looking like two guys who walked away from a car wreck everyone knows about. We've got everything we need to limp along here in our field kit. I don't want to walk in there for what could be handled here with a couple of band aids and get made. I've thought about living in Cuba before, but if I ever do, I'd like it to not be because I got myself a life sentence on a mission!"

"And that's it? What're you gonna tell Matty if she finds out?"

"She won't. Because she's going to be so happy with the intel we bring home that she's not gonna care, Jack. Now, can I please just take a shower?"

"Fine, fine," Jack sighed, laying back down. He must've dozed off, too, because when Mac woke him up, the kid's hair was dry and he was dressed in a long-sleeved shirt and sweatpants. Not exactly consistent with the ambient temperature, which Jack pointed out.

Mac frowned at the penetrating stare Jack was leveling at him now that he'd sat up and gotten a good look at his partner. And Jack's pupils were even so he wasn't that concussed, therefore he wasn't going to be all that punch drunk. "I got a little scraped up. Feels better covered. Put this on your face."

He handed Jack a tube of antibiotic ointment. Jack winced when he applied it to where his lip was split, but he smeared it around his mouth anyway. He tried to hand it back to Mac for his own numerous cuts. Mac shook his head.

"Use the whole thing. All over your face. I've got another tube for myself. I took care of most of it in the bathroom a while ago."

"What the hell for? It stinks! And I only split my lip."

Mac just shifted from one foot to the other for a minute. "You don't want me to explain it to you. Just do it."

"Now you're gettin' bossy. How hard you hit your head?" Jack smirked. This was more Mac deflecting attention off himself, Jack was pretty sure.

Mac sat down on the bed with a shrug. "Not hard enough to make me forget that I saw you wash your face in a bird bath. Do you have any idea the sorts of pathogens you exposed yourself to today?"

The kid was clearly ready to list them, and in all honestly, Jack really didn't want to know. "Alright, alright. I'll diaper cream my whole face if it'll make you feel better."

Mac chuckled in spite of himself. "It will. Now if you could just find a bag to put over your head," he teased.

"The world would be a much less debonair place," Jack finished for him. It had finally cooled off enough in the room for Jack to want a t-shirt. He pulled one out of his bag and over his head carefully. When his head was inside the shirt, the world spun again, but righted itself quickly when he could see again. The he looked at Mac long and hard enough that Mac shifted uncomfortably. "For real now, kid. How much of the blood on that shirt before was yours?"

There wasn't much denying it. Jack had seen his back on the beach earlier, even if it was only for a second. "Some. It was mostly the scrape down my back from the radio dials though. It's fine."

Mac didn't sound very convincing. Jack got up and sat next to him. "How 'bout you let me take a look, maybe put some of that lovely birdbath repellent on it for you?"

Mac huffed with irritation, but honestly that was a good idea. He couldn't see it or reach it himself. He started to pull up the back of his shirt, saying, "Sure. Fine. That's probably …"

Jack interrupted, "Jesus, Mac! Matty was right. You should go to the hospital."

Mac rolled his eyes. "Don't be so dramatic. How bad can it be?" He craned his neck to try to see and realized there was blood all over his shirt again. "Well, shit."

"Well shit is right!" Jack agreed, getting the kit back out and dousing Mac with an entirely unnecessary amount of the disinfectant they carried.

"Gah! Warn a guy, wouldja? That's cold!"

He squirmed unintentionally as Jack patted the wound dry with sterile pads from the kit.

"I dunno, Mac. It looks like it needs stitches. We should probably do what Matty said."

Mac rolled his eyes finding that it was making his headache worse and that he really just wanted to go to bed. "There's a suture kit in there. If you want to play medic, go for it!" he grumped.

"Ah, Mac you know I hate doin' that," Jack nearly whined.

"And I hate having it done, so we'd be even," the time he smirked. He was picturing Jack's face the last time either of them had needed sutures in the field and he'd been pretty sure his big tough partner was going to puke or pass out before the deed was done. If he didn't find it so unpleasant himself, it would almost be funny.

"Hey, you know what?" Jack said, suddenly sounding more cheerful. "There's wound glue in here."

"Is there enough?" Mac asked hopefully.

"I think there is. Hold still, okay?"

"Ssssssss," Mac hissed. Hell of a lot nicer than being stabbed a bunch for stitches, but damned if it didn't sting like fire anyway. He swore under his breath in a steady stream for almost a full minute until the glue started to set and the sensation faded. When he was done being tortured … that is, patched up by his friend, he found their kit's stash of pain meds. "You want a couple Jack? It's the good stuff. Tylenol plus a little extra. Should be okay even with the concussion."

Jack took the pills gratefully. The day was catching up to him, and fast. He squinted at Mac, the tightness around his eyes, his mouth, his general pale appearance and stiff movement. "What about you, bud? Might help you get comfortable enough to get some sleep."

Mac shook his head, laying down and putting out the light before Jack could get another look at his expression. "My dreams have been screwed enough lately. They don't need help from pharmaceuticals."

"I know, kid," Jack agreed sadly. They were quiet for a few minutes. "We'll go back to lookin' the minute we're done here, Mac. It's gonna work out okay."

Mac didn't answer. He was laying very still. Jack thought there was the barest possibility that he'd already dozed off, but he didn't think so. What he thought was that his friend was just laying there in the dark, hurting in more ways than one, wondering if anything would ever work out okay.

He wanted to say something else, something to convince him, but that just seemed to make it worse lately. Jack let himself be pulled down toward sleep by the combination of exhaustion and half way decent pain meds, hoping that in the light of another day the kid would see some hope.

The shuddering breath Jack heard from Mac's side of the room before he slipped into sleep told him that tonight at least, despite going through the motions like everything was fine, hope was a word Mac might not find in his vocabulary for a while. Jack wondered what he could do to help, and dreamed of a life in which Mac had just been given a father who would never abandon him, and who maybe had a slight Texas accent. When sleep finally overtook Mac several hours later, he dreamed something very similar, before yet another nightmare rocked him awake with the rising sun.


	3. Chapter 3

The minute Cage claimed she came from 4 Squadron, Jack's spidey senses got tingly. The others might have only a passing familiarity, but between his time in Delta and his stint at CIA Jack had more than just a casual acquaintance with the SASR and its various regiments. 4 Squadron was only ever even rumored to have trained any female soldiers at all, starting around 2012 and those women had reportedly all trained in the US since the SASR had some facilities and cultural hurdles to overcome in including women in its ranks.

Even forgetting that she didn't look old enough to have seen seasoned enough to have been considered for that elite service five years ago, he knew he wasn't always good at guessing age. Hell, he knew how old Mac was and half the time he almost glared at clerks who didn't card the kid. But he was never that far off. And she was talking like she'd been with CIA for a while, which meant she also had at least a bachelor's degree. Her timeline didn't add up.

He could understand the kids just buying it, since this agent was being introduced to them by the boss and was assumed to be vetted, but Matty raised one eyebrow when Cage made the claim, too. Why the hell didn't she call her out? Well, if she wasn't going to, he sure as hell was. New people didn't get a pass. Not after what happened with Zito; Hell, after Thornton. Even Nikki, who was theoretically back in the good guy camp, but Jack wasn't sure he was buying that either.

Mac had thrown him a raised eyebrow when he'd opened his mouth to push back against her story a little, but he thought maybe it was just because Mac was unfailingly polite. He'd seen Mac apologize for hitting someone in the middle of a fight, so he guessed maybe his tone might have been a little harsh. But damn it, Matty was supposed to be looking out for them. She was supposed to have the teams' six.

Jack was working up a pretty good head of steam in his own brain, glancing around to make sure he hadn't said any more of it out loud yet, when the video from Diaz's parents started. He was more than a little distracted from his suspicion of Cage by the idea of a SEAL spending two years as a POW with no one giving so much as a how do you do to Cage's requests to go after him. Her dedication softened his suspicion somewhat. Then he saw a picture of the guy and the look on her face and wondered if maybe they had a thing. It was worth following up on. That would be muddy and dangerous if it was true.

He was scrutinizing her face when she said, "Look, I know you guys just met me, and I'm aware that this is a lot to ask, but I wouldn't be here if I had anywhere else to turn." Jack was about to question her further as to why exactly they were her agency of last resort when she supposedly had all these connections and all kind of juice as a master interrogator, when everyone's attention was pulled back to the screen. Diaz's father asserted earnestly, "And no matter what, I will never give up on my son." Everyone was looking at the screen except Jack. He'd been looking at Mac's face, had seen Mac swallow hard before he said, with his voice sounding just a little too tight, "I'm in." He glanced at Jack, and unwilling to let Mac down, even though something told him they were going to regret getting involved with this chick, he nodded, mostly at Mac, saying, "Leave no man behind." Things moved too fast after that for Jack to follow up on his concerns with Matty, or anyone else. He thought about saying something to Mac, but damned if the kid didn't already have way too much swirling around in that ginormous brain with Murdoc still being in the wind, and their unsuccessful search for his old man. Jack wasn't about to pile on.

But Cage had his hackles up though.

Jack was determined to 'hack her hard drive' the first chance he got.


	4. Chapter 4

The trip over on the jet might have been a good time for Jack to get a little personal with Cage, but Mac was nervous, tense, trying desperately to avoid dealing with emotions that had gotten stirred up by his search for his father, not to mention still a little dinged up from Cuba and determined to keep that on the down low, and therefore he was prone to falling back on training. That was not to say formal training, but rather the informal shit the Army taught everybody to make a functioning unit out of disparate members – teasing and a little over sharing.

Hey, it worked in boot camp. And Matty had made it clear that they were meant to function as a team. With everything going on in his head, Jack wasn't surprised to be reacquainting himself with shades of the PFC MacGyver of once upon a time. They'd be having a private chat at some point about what was motivating that regression, Jack promised himself; although he was doing his level best not to take Mac's ribbing about Cairo personally. He thought maybe the kid was whistling in the dark a little after what had happened on Cairo Day. Either way, it begged a conversation. Whatever was up with Mac wasn't great, and he was presenting as affable, open, ready to work, but something was telling Jack he was in full walls up mode, even though he was sort of talking about why. But not in front of the new guy … gal … whatever.

Instead, Jack tried to get her talking. She got real defensive at the idea that she and Diaz might have had a relationship. Jack just filed that away for later. He didn't miss the very pointed look she gave Mac when she said she 'didn't fish in the company pond'. Her eyes had strayed to his chest for a moment and then back up to his face. So casual, so almost accidental, Jack didn't think Mac even noticed, but the implication that she knew about Lake Como and that somehow Mac's relationship with Nikki had let him in for that Hell made Jack's blood pressure climb. And he thought that Mac registered it on some level based on the slight uncomfortable shift he made in his seat.

Jack bit hit tongue though. An implication that Mac didn't even consciously process when he was emotionally stirred up was one thing. Saying the name of his kryptonite out loud and in reference to the incident that could have ended his career, not to mention his life, that was not something Jack was going to do, no matter how much he had the urge to trip Cage up. It was hard to bite his tongue again though because that told him that someone, somewhere, and he suspected it might be Matty (or more concerning, someone from Oversight) had brought Samantha Cage in for another reason, not yet apparent, and let her see all their files. She already knew more than he liked, and he wasn't buying that it was just that she was that good. Not yet anyway.

When she said CIA paired her with Diaz's unit in 2013 he almost called bullshit. She couldn't have gotten out of SASR training based on the timeline he'd confirmed with an old Delta buddy by then and she sure as hell couldn't have done enough time with them to distinguish herself in a forward area enough to get recruited by the Agency. The whole thing just stunk on ice. But there was something here. He didn't necessarily get a bad guy vibe off her. Just a strong cloak and dagger feel that he didn't like.

He was also watching her interactions with Mac pretty closely. His partner was vulnerable as hell and didn't need his head more messed with than it already was. When Mac dozed off not too long before their descent in Turkey, Jack couldn't keep quiet anymore. "I got my eye on you, Miss Cage. I hope that's clear by now."

She smirked at him. "You don't need to sound so tough, Dalton, none of your playgroup are awake to be impressed anymore."

"I don't think I care much for you," he said honestly, sitting forward and looking her right in the eyes.

"As if I hadn't gathered that already. Ready to tell me about Cairo yet?"

"Now, see, that's where we're gonna have a problem, Cage." She smirked again, so he just sat back casually, crossing his feet, like she wasn't even interesting. "I been interrogated by much scarier people than you and they got exactly what I wanted them to have. So, you don't worry me a pig's whisker when it comes to my secrets."

She blinked once and he liked the slight discomfort he saw flicker there. "Oh, really?" she asked almost loudly, but there was mostly bluster there to Jack's seasoned ear.

"What I do think, is that you probably already know about Cairo. Because somebody let you read about it. Just like they let you read about Mac's relationship with our former analyst and the GSW he got for his trouble."

"I don't know what you're talking about. I came to Phoenix because I knew Director Webber at the Agency. I didn't know anything about your Ops team or any of you …"

"Sure," Jack waved a hand, dismissing her defense. "Whatever you say, Cage. But just so you know, I might come off as a hayseed to somebody like you. But I listen." He nodded to reinforce his point. "And you've been talkin' like you wanna pick a fight with me since we walked in to the War Room. Talkin' like you want to impress the kids, when you haven't been doin' that. But mostly, you've been talkin' like you want my partner to buy you a drink."

"I have not been doing any such ..!"

"You have." Jack cut her off bluntly. "Minute he looks your way your voice goes all breathy and vulnerable. Like Crocodile Dundee and Marilyn Monroe had a baby and she grew up to be annoying. He's a guy who loves to step in and help someone in trouble. That's in his file, too. Just … so we're clear … Last blond who showed up and batted her eyelashes at him and got him to do things that weren't great for him, I didn't trust her either. And I turned out to be right. And Mac knows it. Whatever your agenda is here, Cage, if it's anything other than get Diaz back to his very fine family, I'm gonna warn you now. Best tread lightly."

"I already told you, I don't …"

"Fish in the company pond, yeah. I heard you. But you surely do look like someone who's at least contemplating what bait to throw out there."

"You're wrong!" she said hotly, whipping her head away from him to look out the window.

Jack didn't answer her aloud, but he did think quietly to himself, after a glance at his partner, who was sleeping fitfully, "I really hope so."


	5. Chapter 5

Nothing about this sat right with Jack. Even Cage's story about how she knew Diaz was just a little too close to his and Mac's for comfort – the more seasoned soldier looking out for the rookie who's more cerebral, in a war zone. He could see the memories hit Mac at just the casual mention of what that bond would mean. Then, she took his gun because she didn't have one of her own. That was fishy as hell. Then she hit him, even though she didn't have to. She could've just told him what was what.

Well, okay, maybe he was prone to arguing with her and he'd flat out told her he didn't like her and had his eye on her, but in what universe did clocking him and pointing his own gun at him repair the not so fabulous start to their relationship? Her selling the idea that she was a local who'd busted him and Mac stealing a car for a larger group of Americans was pretty smooth, but the first chance he got when they were taking a pit stop near a stand of thick trees, Jack stepped up next to her while they waited for Mac to come back to the car.

"That was a nice move back there, Cage," he offered.

She gave him an almost smoldering smile, almost overly pleased with the perceived praise. "I told you, I'm very good at what I do. And that doesn't just mean interrogation."

Jack narrowed his eyes. "For someone who claims to have all kinds a juice in the intelligence community, Ms. Cage, you came to us with no resources, no official backing, and apparently no service weapon. Which tells me that maybe, just maybe, things aren't too rosy between you and the Agency at the moment."

"I resent your inference, Agent Dalton."

Jack held up his hands. "I'm not inferring anything. But there are some interesting implications in your situation." His eyebrows climbed, almost daring her to defend herself, but she bit her lip, as though it were difficult to keep her thoughts to herself. "What I am saying plainly, no inferences necessary, is the only way you'll ever touch my weapon again is if I'm unconscious, because you damned sure better have your own. That's just the regs, lady."

"MacGyver doesn't carry a gun," she said in an almost accusatory tone, as though that made Jack's partner inferior in some way and she was going to get Jack to reveal what that was.

"No ma'am, he does not. I do that for him." Jack grinned.

"So, what does he carry?" she baited Jack to say something that might diminish his younger less bellicose partner to her.

"He carries everything else," Jack smirked, quoting an old cop show he vaguely remembered his dad watching reruns of. It was a line he'd always gotten a kick out of and he thought of it often when he thought of Mac. He reached down into his boot and drew his back-up piece out of its ankle holster, checked the load, cleared the chamber, and offered Cage the weapon.

She looked like she wouldn't take it for a moment, then she gave him a half smile, took it from him, checked the weapon herself, and slipped it into her belt. "Thank you, Agent Dalton."

"That's for makin' sure I can watch my partner's back. So if I'm not there and you are, you remember what that piece is for, you copy?"

She gave him a short nod, as Mac came toward them. "Yeah. I copy."

Mac raised an eyebrow, "Are you two arguing again? Because I'm tired of refereeing this bickering. Cage says she didn't date Diaz, Jack. And Samantha, Jack is just trying to have a clear picture of all the players. You guys don't have to take this so personally with each other."

He ran a hand through his hair at the look they were both giving him.

"Unless you were talking about me."

Both of them made faces that Mac thought were overly innocent. He was sure Jack wouldn't just tell Cage about the stuff with his dad, but he'd revealed more than he intended on the plane, and he wondered if she couldn't have just gotten him to tell her something. She did seem oddly good and knowing things.

"In which case shut up."

"Mac, we weren't," Jack said earnestly.

Mac almost believed him. He shrugged. "Good. But I'm driving."

He held out his hand for the keys.


	6. Chapter 6

Jack was grateful when Cage stopped raising questions and objections and just helped Mac get up the side of the damned building. It's not like it was that high off the ground, but once the kid had made up his mind to let his boots leave the earth, it was always better to not leave him too much time to think about it. He was happier that way. As soon as Mac disappeared over the railing of the balcony and through the door Cage turned to Jack with her eyes slightly narrowed. "You put an awful lot of blind faith in your partner, Agent Dalton."

"It ain't blind faith for me when he's doing something like that than it is for him when I'm sighting in on a target, lady. We've known each other for years." Jack gave her a very hard look. "Anything either of us had to prove to the other, we did it a long time ago. We got nothin' to prove to you."

He walked toward the door and gave Mac a grin when the door opened a second later, and he tossed Cage an almost superior look, as though to say if she still wanted him to prove anything, Mac's rapid efficiency in this situation ought to do it. He chuckled. "Let's clear the place."

0-0-0

Jack was glad they didn't have far to travel to get to where Riley traced those cell phones to where she thought they might be holding Diaz because even on the short trip Cage managed to irritate him again, this time by suddenly changing her tune and acting overly impressed with what Mac accomplished since they'd been in country. What was worse was the slight nervous smiles Jack noticed Mac give her in response. Not the cool, reserved operator Jack was more used to seeing around strangers, but much more the kid like he used to get when Nikki would flirt with him. Okay, maybe not that bad, but enough that it worried Jack a little.

Mac was not in the best place emotionally at the moment, and frankly Nikki had … well, Jack was fairly certain they'd had a little fling during the Chrysalis fiasco, which was fine, it was great. Except for Mac didn't really have flings. He was an all or nothing guy. If they slept together that night, and Jack wasn't about to ask, but he was pretty damned sure that's what went down, Mac would have thought things were going back to the way they were. But they hadn't. Nikki had more or less left him high and dry. Mac hadn't so much as gone out for a casual drink with a girl since.

Then Cage had to make the mansplaining comment. Jesus. Nikki used to accuse him of that all the time. Jack didn't think Nikki really thought that about him. She said it to make him question himself as far as he could tell. Mac just knew a lot of stuff. And he liked talking about it. Often, if he found someone who was as knowledgeable as he was, the kid would get wrapped up in conversations that would go on for hours, completely regardless of the individual's gender. Jack had liked Frankie. She never would have assumed Mac offering information was anything other than him being helpful, just like Mac would have thought the same about her. The thing most people didn't get about Mac was that he didn't think being smart made him better than them. He just saw it as a tool, just like his swiss army knife. It was something he could use, something he could lend if it could help you. But Jack watched it make Mac become more tentative with Cage, more careful. That maybe bugged him more than her weak back story. One that he would get to the bottom of, even after she'd gone her merry way back to CIA, just because it chapped his ass a little.

He was thinking of texting Bozer and seeing if he could maybe get a little quiet help digging that up, when he was distracted by identifying the Ten of Spades. He used to really like Texas Hold 'Em, but damned if Iraq hadn't ruined cards for him just a little. And then Mac jumped in with what felt like another hair brained scheme destined to get the damned fool as close to killed as possible while trying to save somebody else while trying to save somebody else. Good thing he wasn't prone to thinning hair or he'd be as bald as Professor X by now, Jack snarked to himself. Instead he was just extremely prematurely grey. Sure, it was distinguished. But, he could almost name the missions and injuries that each one had come from. Fortunately, the kid was as good as Jack talked him up to Cage as being. He was MacGyver. That was enough.

0-0-0

The flight home had been more subdued even than was usual. Cage was taken up with seeing to Diaz, talking to him while the medic Phoenix had sent to exfil treated what she could. Bozer and Riley had been almost hyper attentive to Jack after Bozer had revealed just how close Jack had come to the Ten of Spades ending this mission and all future ones.

Mac was always quiet after missions. He wasn't pretending to sleep like he usually did though. He glanced at Diaz and Cage occasionally, smiling a little. If it hadn't been for Jack, Mac's own situation in Afghanistan would have gone from MIA to POW or KIA pretty quickly, and he knew it. They were two people who would risk anything for each other. That was something Mac and Jack could both understand.

Jack tried to get Mac talking a few times, but Riley and Boze and the satellite exfil team members hovering around made it difficult. They both brushed off the medic with irritated eyerolls, fielded separate, then group calls from Matty, talked to Diaz's parents, started the usual paperwork. Eventually they found themselves sitting on the couch together with a few hours left on the flight and everyone else asleep. Jack pretended to be looking at something on his phone. Mac was too sharp for him though.

"What is it Jack?" he asked with a yawn.

"Just wonderin' how you are, bud," Jack said, trying for casual and almost getting there.

"I'm alright. No new bullet holes, or broken bones, or excuses for your grey hair on this one at all." Mac glanced at him and gave him a slight smile. He absently reached behind his back and scratched at where Jack had glued his shoulder back together in Cuba.

Jack raised an eyebrow. "That water you got drenched with from the dam was nasty. You think that super glue was good enough to keep anything nasty out of your shoulder?"

"It's not superglue, Jack. I mean it's similar, but it's a modified cyanoacrylate that's significantly less likely to cause a chemical burn. Real superglue was developed by Eastman Kodak as a clear plastic for gunsights to be used by soldiers in World War Two and was first used for wounds by medics in Vietnam because … Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Did you just mansplain to me, Mac?"

Mac actually flushed and looked away before smacking his partner solidly on the arm. "Shut up, Jack."

Jack grinned. "I'm only askin' because I care."

"Screw you," Mac said, but he was smiling.

Jack looked a little more serious for a moment. "What do you think of Cage?"

Mac shrugged. "She cares about her partner. Cares about family. That's something." He twisted his watch for a moment. "I hate to bail on you, man, but I gotta catch some sleep. I'm beat, man."

Jack nodded. "Of course."

Jack moved down to the end to give Mac some room and pretended to believe that Mac was asleep when he curled up under the blanket, just like he always did. This was far from over. Mac had actually opened up more than Jack had thought he would here on the flight. Everyone was asleep, sure. But they weren't alone. No matter what anyone suggested, Jack was going to discourage a big get together after the debrief. Mac needed to talk, whether he knew it or not. After finding that watch and nothing else, seeing how far the Diazs went to find their boy cut his friend, and Jack didn't think Mac even knew he was bleeding. It would be up to him to patch him up.

This wasn't over. Mac was hurt, even though his body was apparently whole.

Jack would get him through whatever Phoenix could throw at them and get him home.

Then … Then, they needed to talk.


	7. Chapter 7

When they got back stateside, Cage had followed Diaz to the nearest Naval hospital where she was met by Matty. As she had promised, Matty made sure he got the hero's welcome he deserved, and that Cage was never expected to leave his side. She was able to arrange for his transport home less than twenty-four hours later.

The rest of the team headed back to Phoenix immediately to begin the debrief process which, once Oversight had gotten wind of yet another unofficial mission under Director Webber, promised to be lengthier than average. Going after a killer a short commute away as a personal favor to the boss was one thing. And they hadn't used any Phoenix resources when they'd taken on the Zodiac; that had all been on Matty's dime and their own personal time between official missions. This one though; they'd actively ticked off the CIA and taken on what was apparently not just unauthorized but actively restricted for an agent who had been placed on administrative leave for her dogged refusal to let it go. Jack had to hide his smirk when her lack of official ID and weapon were so easily explained.

The core team was kept busy enough that they didn't have time to give Cage or even Diaz much thought other than to be pleased that they knew they'd accomplished what they'd gone into Turkey for and another one of the good guys made it home to his family. More because it amused her to torment Jack than anything else, Matty called them on video and ordered Mac and Jack to report to Medical for a post-mission evaluation, to which Jack had responded that it was one of the least physically intense gigs they'd had in a while.

She'd smirked at them then. "That may be true, Dalton, but since you didn't see fit to get yourselves taken care of after that beating and the crash in Cuba and then lied to me about it, I'm feeling like I might have some trust issues with you two for a while." Her eyebrows climbed in a slight challenge.

"We didn't lie …" Jack defended, his tone going petulant ten-year-old faster than he realized was possible.

"I thought you were raised Catholic, Dalton. A lie by omission is still a sin," she arched an eyebrow at him.

Jack glared at Mac and hissed, "You said she wouldn't care."

"I said she wouldn't find out," he murmured, his face turned away from the phone toward Jack's ear. Mac looked back at the screen. "It wasn't that big of a … Sorry?"

"I'm sure you will be. Medical, then paperwork, then individual interviews, group interviews, then whatever Oversight tells you to do until I get there. Got it?"

Both Mac and Jack threw the other a slightly amused, slightly resentful look and the glanced back at Matty's image on Jack's phone. "Yes, ma'am," they mumbled. In person you could charm or whine your way out of a lot with Matilda Webber; over video, she was the unstoppable force and the immovable object all rolled into one.

After putting up with the entirely expected rigmarole from Oversight, the team was pretty sure they would be released home for a short leave. Like the rest of the support crew, including the ones who'd gotten them into Turkey and the exfil staff, Bozer and Riley had already been cut loose to head home by lunch time.

They headed to check out the lab and some stuff they'd left running while they were gone. Then they were planning on going out for drinks and back to Riley's for a marathon session of a video game she'd been writing. Jack had taken them both aside, separately, quietly, while Mac had been at Medical and asked if they'd mind skipping the usual get together when the debrief was officially over and wondering if maybe Bozer minded giving him a little space that evening to talk to their friend.

Bozer had pushed back at first, informing Jack that in no uncertain terms he and Mac had been best friends since middle school and he knew something was going on with Mac too and if Mac needed a friend he needed Bozer at least as much as he needed his partner. Jack had nodded. "Normally I'd agree with you, Boze. And some of this is definitely about his old man."

"You never even knew his dad," Bozer had started protesting hotly.

"I know, man, I know," Jack nodded, putting a hand on Bozer's shoulder. "But, I'm the one who pushed him to try to find the guy. And," Jack ran a hand over his face and through his short hair. "I'm feelin' kinda bad about it, because I think that was my baggage more than it was me worried about Mac's. And honestly, I think this goes beyond his dad, and the stuff with Diaz dragged up a lot of other junk from the war, too. Muddied things up some; tied those feelings together, if you know what I mean."

His admission that maybe his motivations hadn't been cut and dried slowed Bozer's defensiveness down. His friends were complicated, more than he'd probably ever understand. And Mac was still Mac, but Afghanistan had changed Mac in ways that Bozer had never quite wrapped his head around. Jack was the guy Mac always needed when what seemed to be eating at him had anything to do with his time in the Army. "I … yeah … I guess I do."

Riley had saved the day by offering Bozer a crack at her new video game when Oversight was done with them. Jack didn't fail to notice that while she still teased him like he was her annoying little brother, it had lost the slightly mean-spirited edge it had for a while when he used to more overtly express his crush on her. All things being equal Jack preferred their friendlier relationship. Also, it meant he could figure out what was really up with Mac.

When Mac came out a few minutes later he raised an eyebrow at the three of them. They were too quiet. "Doc's looking for you now, Jack."

Jack grinned. "Back in five."

Mac didn't look his way and snickered quietly.

"What?" Jack said, with just a slight edge.

"I maybe … slightly … Might have mentioned …" he trailed off.

"What?" Jack asked again, glaring now.

"That you kinda headbutted five or six people." Mac shrugged and smirked. Jack was always ratting him out for injuries that were absolutely nothing and making a huge deal out of nothing. The occasional case of payback was too tasty to pass up.

"Damnit, Mac," Jack said on his way by, and swatted Mac on the arm, hard.

Mac's eyes widened. "Ow! Jackass. What was that for?"

"You bein' a brat, that's what," he glared again.

Mac tried to keep the grin off his face as he threw some of Jack's most frequent words back at him. "I'm just lookin' out for my partner, pal." He rubbed his arm where Jack had hit him. "That hurt. I so owe you for that."

Jack headed off toward the infirmary, not even looking back over his shoulder, "Relax. It was a love tap, kid."

Mac continued massaging his arm as he glanced at Bozer and Riley. "You guys done with your initial interviews?" They nodded. "Guess I better go get mine out of the way," he sighed. What he wanted to do was go get something to eat and maybe take a nap on the couch in his office. Or maybe devise some revenge for the smack Jack just gave him. His arm still stung. "You guys want to do dinner on the deck later if we get out of here before tomorrow?" he asked as they headed down the hall.

"Nah, man," Bozer said, perfectly casually. "Ri offered to let me play that new first-person shooter spy game she's been developing."

Riley added, "Bozer's field skills finally don't suck so much that I think he'll die on the first level."

"Ha ha, you're hilarious," Bozer deadpanned. "I'm sure Jack won't let you BBQ alone though," he added.

Riley gave Bozer a look that said he'd probably gone one line to far, but Mac just gave him a small half smile and a little head shake. "See you guys later."

0-0-0

The debrief could have been worse. It wasn't exactly the first off-the-books mission Mac and Jack had taken on and an official censure was just another blue form in a long series of them in their jackets. It's not like either of them had any illusions they'd be anything other than field agents in this life.

Neither had any genuine interest in moving up the ladder to administration and if they lived long enough they joked about going into business together as adventure expedition tour guides, fleecing the rich out of their cash, ill-gotten or otherwise, to drag them through the jungle and scare them with harmless snakes and exotic delicacies like chocolate covered grasshoppers and barbecued gator (which they both kind of liked).

When they heard what it might mean for Cage however, both Mac and Jack had a gut-twisting moment of sympathy. While they'd met when Jack had gotten Mac out of a jam (okay, a couple of jams – one at least partially of Mac's own creation), the tables had been turned while Mac was still in EOD, and Mac had been more than willing to face court martial to return the favor. That was sort of how they'd wound up at DXS.

They could easily appreciate that Cage had been willing to risk her career, even her own freedom, to get Diaz back from the evil scum that had him. Neither Mac or Jack thought of Diaz's captors as men, or even more generally as people, easily. Jack, in particular, struggled to humanize them.

When Cage just acknowledged, almost stoically, that she accepted the outcome, Mac gave an admiring little smile. He'd felt the same way. Jack was more openly angry that the organization that was supposed to take care of their people had abandoned Diaz and was now punishing Cage for her loyalty.

Still, he was more than a little caught off guard when Matty just offered Cage a job, seemingly apropos of nothing. They didn't really know Cage. And Jack still didn't trust her story. It filled him with renewed suspicion, both of Cage, and of Matty's motivations for offering Phoenix's help to begin with.

When he voiced his concerns however, Mac smacked him in the chest so damned hard he thought his heart was gonna stop. Despite the fact that he could feel a bruise forming he almost had to laugh because he felt Mac tense next to him, apparently realizing that he'd swung harder than he'd maybe intended. As they walked out of the War Room, it was apparent that it didn't matter whether he or Mac liked or disliked Matty's decision. She already had something in the works for Cage. Maybe she had planned to bring her in when she'd said yes to this mission.

As they parted ways Jack have Mac an accusing frown, "That really hurt though."

Mac just parroted Jack's earlier words back to him. "Relax." He grinned. "That was just a love tap, Big Guy."

As Matty and Cage moved off what Jack considered a safe distance Jack gave Mac a speculative look, "You want her on the team because you think she's cute."

Mac rolled his eyes. "I don't care if she's on the team or not, Jack. Although, you've been advocating for more fire power on the sketchier missions for years, so now when you want it, you'll have it. What interests me is that Matty likes her. Somebody new that Matty wants to focus on will keep her out of our hair a little maybe."

Jack grinned and slung an arm around Mac's shoulders. "You really do have a big brain, kid." Mac moved Jack's arm away. "You mad at me just 'cause I thought you had a crush?"

"No, you just tried hugging me right where you left a welt on my damned arm. Jerk. I didn't hit you anywhere near as hard as you hit me." Mac shook his head. "So guess who's buying the beer."

"That mean we're outta here?" Jack looked hopeful.

"Please." Mac leaned into his office exactly long enough to grab his jacket and shut the door.

0-0-0

Jack sort of wished they hadn't taken separate cars into work before the mission, because the ride home meant that not only did Mac have time to get up in his own head on the commute, he also had the additional time of Jack stopping for the obligatory beer. By the time Jack got there it was dark and Mac had a good fire going out in the pit on the deck. And his posture said he was in an introspective mood.

Of course, Jack reflected, maybe some time to think had been good for both of them. Jack reckoned he shouldn't have just implied Mac might have a thing for Cage. Hell, Mac getting all awkward didn't even have to be attraction or flirting. Mac got like that around new people in general.

And, if Jack was being one hundred percent fair and objective, things he realized were not exactly his strengths, while Cage was maybe hiding some things (she was a spook – that's what they all did for a living) she was also competent in the field and she'd help up her side out there. He said so. Mac's grin and teasing response to his peace offering told him it was exactly the right thing to do.

Mac's shoulders seemed to lower about six inches from his ears almost immediately. Even bringing up Murdoc didn't seem to tense the kid back up. So he hated to do it. He really did. But there was a much bigger reason Jack had asked Boze and Riley to find something else to do tonight.

Jack winced at the pain that lanced across Mac's face when he brought up Mac's dad. The pain turned quickly to anger, but it was the kind that was so old, so familiar, Mac was able to keep it on a very short, very tight leash. He appreciated it when Jack pointed out that his father's shortcomings didn't have to be his own. Besides, Mac knew he wasn't the sort to just give up on somebody even when the odds were long. He and Jack had made their careers keeping on when the odds were against them, often just to make sure the other made it home. He knew what Jack was going to say before he said it.

"He is your dad, and …"

Mac sighed internally, completing Jack's sentence with him, "You ain't got but one."

Mac's jaw tightened with the thought that while in his case that wasn't strictly true, he wasn't the sort of guy who could look at the man next to him and voice that thought out loud. It was better, well, easier, to do what they'd always done. Just continue to be brothers in arms, who knew how to give each other shit, patch each other up, and buy pizza and beer and pretend like everything was okay, even when they both knew nothing was.

Jack knew the look. Mac was about ninety seconds away from needing to have a good cry, which meant one of two things was going to happen. Either he was going to get up, say he really needed a shower, and go have that cry under the noisy running water, and go to bed without a word, counting on Jack to know what was up and let himself out. Or he was going to say that he was too bottled up from the mission and needed to go for a run. He's disappear into his room, change, go punish himself for ten miles in the hills in the dark with no regard for his own safety, and then come home, too tired to give a damn about how he'd felt, shower, maybe still have that cry, and go to bed. And if he had nightmares or cried in his sleep, well, sir, no one ever had to know about that, did they?

Jack patted him on the shoulder and got up, thinking he'd make himself scarce while Mac made up his mind, maybe order some takeout so when the kid got up, there'd at least be food in the fridge. He hadn't even made it back inside the house where all the takeout menus were stored when Mac called him back out. When Mac pulled apart the watch and found that little scrap of a picture, Jack thought there was no mistaking the tow-headed kid with the smiling lips and the serious eyes in the picture for anyone other than the mini version of the man sitting next to him.

Mac's face was a painful mix of devastated and curious when Jack said, "Well, he hid it there for a reason. It's gotta be a clue, right?"

Mac's eyes no longer held the hard determination of someone determined to squash an emotion until he could get some privacy. Rather there was naked vulnerability in them when he said, "I don't know. But I'm gonna find out."

Jack put an arm around him and pulled him into his side. Instead of pulling away like he had earlier at the office, Mac leaned in, still staring at the thumbnail sized paper image of his own younger face. "We'll find him, kid. I promise you. We'll figure this out no matter what. I'll help you," Jack said, both a promise and a reassurance.

Mac nodded, knowing his eyes were hot and pretty sure they were going to overflow, but also knowing that he was with the one person other than maybe Bozer it was completely safe for that to happen around. "You always do, Jack."

 _Until Next Time …_


End file.
